Monthly Archives: June 2014

So, you know how after you have kids, you spend countless hours teaching them right from wrong and how to behave and grow into healthy, contributing members of society? And then you take them out in public and in less than 5 seconds they can make you look like a complete asshat or worse?

That happens a lot around here.

My daughter is 5 and she’s having some trouble separating what is real from what is imaginary. And by “having trouble,” I mean she’s a little liar.

I’m kidding, I’m kidding.

Kind of.

I don’t think she means to be naughty; in fact, I’m pretty sure she’s trying to be funny. We’re a jokey bunch, so that’s not surprising. But she doesn’t get jokes yet. At least, not how to tell them.

A knock-knock joke from this kid can last an hour. Then you get to the end and of course it’s not funny, but you laugh, cause she’s your kid. Then she says something about someone’s flatulence and that actually is funny, so you laugh.

Then you go out to eat and she tells the strangers at the next table that a) her mommy didn’t make her wear shorts under her dress this time so it’s just panties – wanna see? and b) mommy thinks it’s funny when someone farts.

Everyone laughs at this, so of course she continues to over share. Eventually she runs out of embarrassing but true stories and moves on to totally made up ones.

Such as:

“My mommy goes crazy, like an ape, like a mad, crazy monkey ape.”

“I know that, because I am a smart Alec.”

“We’re all werewolves. We got bit. Came in right through the window.”

“I don’t like my brothers because that’s how my mommy made me while I was in her tummy.”

What? I wish I knew how I managed that, cause I would’ve made her not like any boys. Ever.

Or she might just make up a song. Her songs are generally very amusing and mostly even rhyme.

Then you’ve got the ones like this that make you want to crawl under a table and hide. For the rest of your life. “It’s an adventure in your mouth, it’s a magical bed louse.” Over and over.

I have no fucking idea.

But I have been told that I also made up songs as a child. Though I wasn’t so imaginative, I did enjoy performing one-word ditties in front of a packed restaurant. I’ll give you a hint: It rhymed with duck, duck, duck. Over and over.

I guess over sharing also runs in the family, because my boys were the same way. Once one of them (not to name any names) announced to a friend of mine that he had “just pooped a whale.”

Now that they are older, if they say anything to embarrass me, it’s on purpose and I assure you it is all lies. Like when they tell people that I don’t feed them. Or that they only like burnt pizza because “that’s how they were raised.”

I’m basically terrified to take them anywhere.

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Yesterday was another eventful day, beginning with this conversation with my husband regarding a woman I saw standing on a corner holding a sign asking for money to feed her kids:

Me: So, a lady with a large cardboard sign may come down to the shop. Give her some money, okay?

Him: Say what?

Me: She needs it to feed her kids and I don’t have any cash. I told her to go to your store.

Him: I’m not sure you know how businesses work. Are you ever going to send someone to me who HAS money? Like to BUY things?

Me: Good point. But give her some money this time, and I promise I won’t do this anymore today.

Him: You do know there’s a food pantry you could send these people to, right?

Me: Oh. No, I hadn’t thought about that. Thanks!

He loves it when I send homeless people to his store. Loves it.

You may remember that at a recent doctor’s appointment they did an EKG because of some pain randomly and of course it was “abnormal” so there was this big deal about “it’s probably nothing” but “we have to check it out” and “the cardiologist will just tell you it’s fine and send you on your way.”

I’m beginning to think they just said those things because I was crying.

I went to the cardiologist yesterday and he did an EKG and it was abnormal too, so now he wants to do another test “just to rule out” and “it’s probably nothing” but “we have to check it out.”

Hmmm. The good news is he says whatever the issue may be, he doesn’t think it will interfere with having my murderous gallbladder removed. So there’s that.

Also, I learned that doctors do not find me funny. Not at all. I suppose med school sucked all their funny out, cause we all know I’m fucking hilarious. I’m going to try again next week when I go for that #biliary bullshit (thank you Sarah!) and we’ll see if gallbladder peeps are more attuned to my stellar wit than cardiologists.

I also learned that when you write notes to yourself on your hand in blue ink while you are waiting for the doctor and then put your chin in your hand so you look calm and like you are a good listener, you end up looking like you spent your time waiting by doodling on your face. Which, again, doctors do not find amusing.

No wonder they think I am not funny and a little crazy.

Lastly, I found these little darlings and just had to bring them home with me, due to the whole crazy bird eye they were giving me.

They remind me of myself.

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I just realized that, according to my search terms, people are coming here for answers. Answers to the important questions, like what to do about that invisible ball sweat when you’re cracked out. Where to go for help if you’ve eaten glass. When to go to the ER for your I.U.D.

I feel like it’s safe to say I’ve let those people down.

I don’t have any answers — hell, I don’t even know what I should do most of the time. But I do like to be helpful.

So I’ve composed a list of Things You Should Do If You Want To Be A Person.

1. Don’t Chew Glass. I feel like this should be mostly self-explanatory, but I understand that some people do actually eat things that were never intended to be ingested. So don’t chew glass, guys. It will hurt really bad and likely not taste that great.

2. Don’t do meth. If you have already done it when you found your way here, don’t do it anymore. Meth will make your teeth fall out and your personal hygiene will go completely by the wayside. Greasy hair and no teeth is not a good look for anyone. Plus, you may have to deal with invisible ball sweat, and nobody wants that.

3. Don’t trust monkeys. They might look cute, but they are hairy deviants and I know what I’m talking about.

4. Don’t teach your kids to talk. They will never stop and half of what they say will be complaints. The other half will be embarrassing shit said to strangers, like “My mom thinks it’s funny when people fart.”

5. Don’t believe everything you see on Pinterest. You might think that I just mess stuff up, but I’ve come to realize that there is an asshole sitting somewhere laughing at all of us attempting his impossibly perfect projects. Fuck you, perfect asshole. Beads were never intended to go in the oven and that cake was a goddamned travesty.

6. Always watch what you’re doing with your head. One incident with a pancake griddle and I promise you will never live it down.

7. Carry mace and listen to police officers, but if a police officer tries to mace someone inside a building, run. Mace is not selective and everybody will go down.

8. Don’t judge yourself based on your cat’s opinion of you. Cats can be very cruel, especially if they feel slighted or you’ve brought a new kitten home because you thought they might like a friend. *cries a little*

9. Collect things, but not things like crabs or the clap. Be selectively collective. (OH MY GOD THAT’S SO AWESOME!)

This was a few years ago, and I’ve mentioned before that my memory is not that great nonexistent, but this is one story I will never forget.

It was around 2005 and my brother lived in a shitty part of a medium-size college town. I lived (and still do) 50 miles from the nearest bar. So I visited my brother frequently. That is to say, I would crash at his place after a night of dancing and/or other bad decisions.

Even I’m not sure what was going on here.

One morning, after what I must assume was a night of excess, I stopped at the convenience store right up the road. I don’t remember what I had been doing the night before, but I do know I was still wearing the same clothes and I was out of cigarettes.

As I was pulling out of the parking lot, I must’ve rolled the window down for a smoke. I remember hearing a shrill voice yelling unintelligible word-sounds. It didn’t occur to me that I was being yelled at–I just looked out of curiosity, I guess.

What I saw coming towards me was vaguely alarming, but either I was still drunk or just slow, because instead of driving off I just sat there and smoked and waited for this loud stranger to reach my car. I listened to her through the open window. I don’t remember what she said or why I let her in my car. I must have felt some sort of kinship with a woman, stranded, after a wild night…I don’t even know. I do know that I wasn’t scared before she got in the car. That’s when everything changed. My stranded, helpless woman turned into something remarkably similar to this:

tvspoileralert.com

I wasn’t even out of the parking lot before she started ranting. Turns out, her pimpfriend had brought her to this street and left her the night before, but the gentleman she was supposed to visit with told her he didn’t like her because she talked too much and her hair was ugly. (Nothing like picture above.) So he didn’t pay her. Her pimp friend wouldn’t come get her, she didn’t have any money or drugs, and she was about to stab somebody.

By then I had kind of realized that a stabby hooker in my car was not an ideal situation.

That’s when she started getting really agitated. She was wearing a sweatshirt with a pocket on the front and had her hands in the pocket. I was driving, but she kept getting right in my face, leaning across the console to make her point. She was so wound up that there was spit flying from her mouth, and she kept getting closer and louder and I just knew something painful was about to happen. I didn’t know what the hell she was doing with her hands, but it was making me exceedingly nervous. I was all the way up against my door trying to get some space, all while driving this woman who won’t stop yelling long enough to give me directions.

I distracted her with a cigarette and pulled over in a parking lot. We’d gone about two miles. I had no idea what to do with her; I just wanted to get her out of my car before she stabbed me. But she wouldn’t stop screeching and she wouldn’t get out. She was literally bouncing in the seat, but at least she didn’t have her hands in her pocket anymore.

I think this was about the time when she came down to earth enough to realize that this silly bitch in the driver’s seat was scared shitless.

I ended up cringing as far away as I could get while she told me her name (Pearl), where she was from (Texas), what she was going to do to the guy who left her last night (not pretty), and finally, that she just needed a liiiiiittle bit of money to get her by. Whatever I had would be good. Oh, I only had $10? Well, how about that pack of cigarettes too then? Yeah? Okay, lemme write down your number, cause I’m gonna call you when I can pay you back.

The ONLY good decision I made that morning was not giving this woman my phone number.

I almost forgot! (Okay, I did forget.) Do YOU have any crazy hooker stories? I can’t be the only one!

It's easy to share this post. Not like sharing pie. I would never ask you to share pie.

I know I said I wasn’t going to make a habit of Search Term Tuesday, but then I saw the greatest search EVER and it’s Monday, so I had to share. Someone searched for the following and it led them here. I don’t get it either.

invisible sweat dripping off my balls when i’m on meth

Right?! Oh my God, it’s better than Christmas. The amount of joy this has brought me is a little frightening.

While I was pondering on this poor guy’s plight, I started thinking about balls criminals and that led me to my recycle bin, because that’s where I keep the bad guys.

By “bad guys” I mean newspapers that haven’t gone out yet. Luckily for you, I haven’t emptied my newspaper bin since Christmas, and my town does a weekly incident report. I know. It’s often the highlight of my week.

April 13: At approximately 12:10 a.m., police were notified that someone was asleep in the road in front of the high school. Police found a male subject sitting just outside the white line. He advised “he had simply had too much to drink and had fallen asleep.” Because everyone drinks on the side of the road in front of a school, right?

June 7: A man was arrested for public intoxication after police received a tip that there was a man asleep in the ditch in front of the high school. Shit. I guess they do.

March 14: A man reported that he received a phone call from a person threatening to kill his cat and him. What could the cat have possibly done?

February 15: A caller advised there was a chair in the middle of the road, and on the other side of the road there was a man laying next to the highway. Question: Was this near the high school?

February 15: A man advised that there was a horse in the highway and every time he tried to get around it, the horse would run back across the highway. A different caller also advised of a goat in the area. You get a goat and a horse together and this is what happens.

January 1: A caller advised that his mother kept calling him. I didn’t realize you could call the cops for this.

October 19: A man advised that he went hunting and when he returned home, a woman was in his dining room drunk with wine coolers hanging out of her pockets. I’m interested in these pockets. I don’t have pockets awesome big enough to hold wine coolers.

April 23: A caller reported that there was a naked male out on the road and he was coming up their driveway. Why are these people always in the road? Go home, naked man, you’re drunk.

April 26: A man reported a suspicious Suburban pulled into his driveway, so he went out on the porch and fired a warning shot. Because around here, if you take a wrong turn, we’ll shoot at you until you figure it out.

And this gem I’ve actually posted before, but just in case you missed it:

** The police reports were shortened, names and addresses removed, etc, but otherwise are in original form.

Does your local paper provide you with entertainment as well as news? Do drunk people sleep in front of your high school? What about goats? There seems to be an inordinate amount of goat trouble in my neck of the woods.

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We had to take Thing 3 to have another set of blessed ear tubes put in again to give her some relief from the blasted recurrent ear infections. Since we live 10 miles outside of Timbuktu, we had quite a drive ahead of us and decided to throw in some family time and make the dreaded trip into a mini-vacay.

We figured the kid wouldn’t remember the tubes, but she might remember that Mommy and Daddy took her to the zoo.

Except we didn’t even make it to the zoo. (Probably a good thing, since animals are all perverts.) (Or maybe I’m the pervert. Either way.)

Here are a few things I learned on our way — our long, long way filled with constant chatter from one or all three kids.

1. Thing 2’s rendition of the Rice Krispies commercial was a bit disconcerting, since he fucked it up horribly.

2. Thing 3 is 5 years old and is turning into a smartass. I believe she gets it from her father.

Thing 3: *Rolls her eyes and sighs* What-EVER!

Thing 2: Oh no, you’re turning into a woman!

Thing 3: Your mom’s a woman.

So, my five-year-old is making “your mom” jokes, and I consider that a parenting win. Even though technically I think I was just insulted.

3. When we finally reached our destination, we headed directly for the pool. The kids and the husband swam while I found the cutest little patio area outside in the sun to smoke and read the paper. I discovered that I love sitting quietly while my kids are entertained by something that is not me and is free swimming.

This Is How It’s Done.

4. After the pool we had plans for the zoo, but as usual, my body betrayed me and we decided to rest and go to an arcade instead. The kids had great fun blowing my money, and I found out that Thing 3 thinks I am “the best mommy she’s got” because I drive “TURBO fast” in the go-kart. Hold your applause; we were the only ones on the track.

Getting ready to tear it up on some go-karts.

5. Then I learned that my gallbladder/heart/liver/something on my insides really does hate me and I almost had to go to the ER because I really know how to ruin have a good time. I was up most of the night moaning in the bathtub because I felt like an invisible murderous asshole was stabbing me in the stomach. Luckily for him he was invisible and possibly imaginary.

5. I learned that I am able to drive a wheelchair about as well as a car, and by that I mean not well at all. I ran into two people, a bed, a door, and a couple of walls before the wheelchair was confiscated.

6. The term “ants in your pants” is very apt. This actually happens and really does cause jiggling, jumping, and general insanity while you are being bitten. On the ass. In a parking lot. I’m sure there is film somewhere of me frantically slapping my own ass and screaming bloody murder.

peppysdevelopments.wordpress.com

7. Ant bites are huge. I have one for each cheek, so I should know.

8. I can catch a child’s milkshake vomit in a Wal-Mart sack with a hole in it while driving down the road and not spill any. Yes, I’d like a medal.

9. My oldest child is an angel and will make someone very lucky one day. (I actually already knew this one.) We got home and that kid ordered me to bed, brought me a fan and a washcloth, and helped get the other kids settled. He’s also adorable and a genius, but calm down ladies, he’s only 15.

10. If you go to the doctor and check every box that says, “nearly every day” on their little questionnaire and then burst into tears, they are much nicer to you than usual. Today I went to the doctor and had a total meltdown. And that was before they did an EKG “just to rule out heart problems” and the bastard came back “abnormal.” Of fucking course it did. Have I mentioned that my body hates me?

11. If you have plans for the weekend in spite of the fact that you know you should rest, your doctor will schedule an abundance of tests for Saturday, on just about every internal organ you have. Then the following week can be spent at cardiologists, gastroenterologists, psychiatrists, and other places well known for fun and games.

12. If you leave town for two days, your renters might take that as the perfect opportunity to leave town themselves, only they might take all their stuff and not leave any rent money. Anyone interested in a two bedroom in Timbuktu?

It's easy to share this post. Not like sharing pie. I would never ask you to share pie.

there is no life before coffee cat — Hm. True, but not true. Maybe this? I agree about the coffee, but I don’t know where my cat’s asshole comes into it.

dark face doberman — I am just so sorry that brought you to this post about being ear-raped by a dog. So, so sorry.

my grandmas dresser drawers — You may not have intended too, but you ended up at one of my best posts.

joke on “i’ll take it from here.” — Me bragging about my best post. Probably not what you wanted, but Charlie Sheen makes everyone happy.

I hope you enjoyed the first and final installment of Search Term Tuesday. I’ll probably be back around the weekend with stories about the zoo, hotel swimming pools, and road trips with a family of five. Got any tips? I need all the help I can get. I know Angelle advises carrying a bedpan for emergencies.

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Commonly known as the Vampire Asshat of the insect world, ticks feed off the blood of their innocent victims. If you are not lucky enough to live in an environment where ticks, chiggers, snakes, and other horrible slithery-crawly things abound, let me give you a visual.

Actual size may vary. Generally the size of a freckle, not a baseball as depicted above.

This guy is the neighbor who comes over uninvited, unannounced, irritates your pets, and makes you uncomfortable and twitchy. This little creep latches on and sucks your blood. Hello? How is that not a vampire? It is. Just because it doesn’t sparkle is no reason to write off this tiny killer.

I’ve bitched written about my allergy to meat before. Well, this is the little bastard that caused the allergy:

viracor.com

The Lone Star Tick. The cruelest and most evil insect of them all. The one that turns you…VEGAN. *gasp* *pause for shock and awe* *nods head wisely but with visible sadness.* *looks stoic and perhaps a bit romantic*

Right?! This shit is just effing ridiculous. (That may be the first time I’ve ever typed effing. It doesn’t feel right.)

But I digress. Here are the facts about this bitch ass tick who stole my steak:

1. Little motherfuckers are found everywhere. It is all over the US and in Australia and other countries where ticks are known to live. My yard is a popular gathering place for ticks. I believe it may be the Cabo of creepy things I’d rather live without.

2. Everyone who gets bit by a Lone Star tick is not gong to get this allergy. And it comes in different levels, kind of. Because I have always been an overachiever, I am not fucking around with this allergy. If I have to be allergic to mammals, I’m taking that shit all the way. Ye-ah, I will WIN at allergies. Yep.

3. The allergy is Alpha-Gal IgE — it’s a reaction to a sugar-protein called Galactose-alpha-1,3-galactose. Some people have struggled with it for over 20 years, but research has only been done on this allergy for about the last 5 years. (Basically, no one knows shit yet, except keep Benadryl and an Epi-Pen handy so you won’t die.) Alpha-Gal.org has what little information there is on this allergy.

4. The AG allergy made me allergic to anything that comes from a mammal, including milk and animal byproducts which are in EVERYTHING. Yes, I am aware of how insane that sounds. No, I am not making it up.

5. Basically at this point the only things I can eat safely are fresh fruits and vegetables, along with chicken, turkey, and fish. (I hate fish.) (It’s growing on me.)

So, all this from a fucking tick? The researchers think so. Not many doctors even know about this yet, so it was hard to get the diagnosis until my blood tests came back positive for beef and pork allergies.

My doctor looked me square in the face after I described an allergic reaction with trouble breathing (anaphylaxis) and asked me if I knew that sometimes a “hard poop can make you break a sweat and feel like something is wrong.”

Oh no he didn’t. (Yes, he actually did. Fucker.) I guess at 34 I know the difference between taking a shit and not being able to breathe.

Some days I handle it better than others. Some doctors say it will go away in time (my allergist said possibly 5 to 7 years without any new bites) but some say it won’t. I just got three new bites this weekend, while wearing bug spray and walking in a yard that had been treated for ticks.

And, I just realized, like right this second, that humans are mammals too so there goes any chance of survival if I were ever in some sort of situation where I had to eat a person to live. Fuck.

Do you have any weird allergies? Has your doctor ever treated you like you were a fucking five-year-old? Do you think you could handle a diet like mine, or are you already a super healthy eater without being forced into it? What are your thoughts on cannibalism? (J/K, please don’t eat anybody.)

It's easy to share this post. Not like sharing pie. I would never ask you to share pie.

I’ve been seeing all this #YesAllWomen stuff everywhere. I’ve been reading lots of talk, a lot of opinions, and of course a lot of bullshit. I’ve read some who think it should be #AllPeople or #AllMen or whatever. But I think they are missing the point.

I started thinking of what I have experienced in my 34 years as a woman, and I don’t think a man, any man, would have experienced those things the way that I did. Not all the things that women are so used to that we just shrug or walk away or lock our doors.

#YesAllWomen is not saying that ALL men are sexist, raping, murdering pigs. I’m not saying all men are bad guys, or even not-great guys. I’m saying that I do not know a man who has ever been afraid to walk to his car after dark because he might be shoved up against it and raped in the parking lot. But every woman I know has felt that fear, or worse, the reality.

Lately I’ve been paying more attention to what people say to me when I’m out and about, and some of it is disturbing — mostly because I am so used to it, I guess, that it means nothing to me, and partly because I’ve caught myself thinking, “well, if you weren’t wearing this dress” or “you were bending over to buckle the car seat.” Um, what was that? Our rape culture has infected my brain, a woman’s brain, to the point that I excuse shouts of “DAYUM” or “I’d hit that!” because of WHAT I WAS WEARING OR DOING?

I’m ashamed of myself and that is why I’m writing this. Because I don’t deserve to be spoken to like that and I don’t deserve to feel threatened because of my sex or my outfit.

When I was in kindergarten I only went to school half a day. A little boy on my street went in the morning and I went in the afternoon, so we would pass each other walking to and from school. One day on my way to school he stopped me by grabbing my arm and pulling me behind a short, wide tree in his yard and pulling up his shirt and down his pants.

When I was in the fifth grade I moved to a new school. We sat in groups of four desks, two side by side and two facing. For a couple of weeks I twisted my legs and shook my head and whispered fierce warnings to the little boy who sat across from me. It didn’t stop him from taking his pencil and trying to insert it between my legs every day during class. When I finally told the teacher, I thought I was in trouble. The next day I got to pick a seat anywhere I wanted in class.

When I was 13 years old a boy on my bus stood up and when the bus hit a bump, pretended to fall, landing on top of me and not getting up for far too long.

When I was 18 years old and coming out of a big box store on my way to work, I found a note under the windshield wipers of my car. The note said that if I just waved, the author would come over and do such vile things to me that I can’t even type them here. Just wave, it said. I was scared to even look up or move my hands even to lock the doors, but lock the doors I did, and drove away. I went on to work and only told my parents about it later.

When I was 19-years-old I worked nights alone at a convenience store. One man would come in every night and just watch me for hours. I was so afraid of him that I wrote down his name and license plate number on a receipt book with the note, “if I disappear, he did it.” Eventually my dad started coming to work with me every night until I got put back on the day shift.

When I was 20-something, a man tried to get into my car, chasing me around it and beating on the windows to be let in. He was yelling the entire time. This was at a convenience store in broad daylight and no one did anything. I did not know the man and I locked myself in the car and drove away. Later that day I reported the incident to the store owner, who basically laughed at me.

Last week two strangers yelled things at my rear end, indicating that they were enjoying the view and would like to see more. I ignored it for the most part; thought that I shouldn’t have been bending over trying to hook up a car seat while wearing a dress and heels, even if the dress did come almost to my ankles.

I’m not saying that all women are all good. I’m not saying that a woman would never harm another woman. But I think as women, we hurt each other in different ways. A woman could threaten me with rape and worse, either as a joke or as a real threat, but it seems less likely to me simply because a woman understands that fear of having your body taken without your consent. Also, generally they don’t have penises. I said GENERALLY, calm the fuck down. God.

I’m sure, I mean POSITIVELY sure that there have been more incidents like this throughout my life. These are just the ones that stand out right now. And I think it’s pretty sad that I can think of 7 instances off the top of my head where I was treated with at least total disrespect and at most threat of harm, invasion of my personal space, threat of rape, kidnapping, or murder. And those were just the times strangers accosted me. I’m not even mentioning the times when the perpetrator was someone I knew and trusted. I’m not ready for that yet, or maybe ever.

So, men. Think back. How many times can you remember being catcalled by a woman, or where a woman has touched you inappropriately (without your consent), or sexually harassed you, or threatened you with rape? That’s why it’s #YesAllWomen.

Now, for some lighter fare, go check out my new page Reviews, News, and Booze where I interviewed Brad Carter, author of Saturday Night of the Living Dead!

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